The Reasons Why
by sionide
Summary: AU. Lovino Vargas is an ex-elite agent, wanting to forget his past. Getting on a plane and leaving seems like the answer, only to find things he'd rather not, like, say, himself in the enemy's arms. And in the non-enemy kind of way. -- Prussia/Romano.
1. are you awake?

**Details:** AU.**  
Pairing/s: **Prussia/Romano, (TBA)**  
****Warning/s**** In This Chapter: **Nada. Except for Romano's potty-mouth, which, by the way, isn't speaking much in this chapter XD oh and human names used~**  
****Summary: **So er, again: Lovino Vargas is an ex-elite agent of the WPO (World Protection Organization) with a past he'd much rather forget. Acting upon that whim, he decides to get on a plane and leave the city, the people –everything behind only to find things he'd…much rather not…like say, himself in the enemy's arms.

And in the _non-enemy_ kind of way too.  
**Note/s: **I decided to dig up one of my old original stories (that I discontinued) and see if I could do something about it…eventually, I ended up replacing the names a few details here and there –thus replenishing the lost vigor I had for writing this. I'm not sure as to what other pairings I'll want in this because, like any other hetalia fan, I have a lot. It'd be a great help if any readers who stumble upon it review with pairings they'd like to see, make this a less, ah…painful process XD

So anyway, here is the first chapter to…

'**The Reasons Why' **

**

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**_**Chapter one: **__Are you awake? _

_

* * *

  
_

Lovino felt his heart speed up, then slow down just as it had started.

His breath hitched and then returned to a normal pace.

He squinted, the beams of sunlight that had found ways to break in through the curtains hurting his eyes.

He felt his brain throb painfully against his skull and his hands grip the sheets in attempt to make it go away.

Wait.

What?

_Sheets?_

He groaned rolling over and about to press his face against the pillow.

The pillow that was supposed to be under his head but wasn't.

The pillow that would've made things hell of a lot easier for him but decided to be part of the discarded _whatever _pile on the floor (he'd figure that out later).

He breathed out heavily, the headache taking on an unfortunate likeness to a hammer and, for the sake of the almighty God_, _his head wasn't a _fucking_ nail. Hearing his heartbeat in his ears only made everything else hurt too much for him to find himself comfortable on the bed that part of him knew he wasn't supposed to be in.

Instead of the pillow, Lovino felt his head press against something smooth, although a bit sweaty.

A chest.

A _bare_ chest.

He felt his breath hitch again, his heart do that thing it did when he first opened his eyes --except this time it went on overdrive and wouldn't stop.

His face was still pressed against the pale skin and he could hear the heartbeat of whoever his makeshift pillow was.

The rise and fall of the person's chest could only mean that he (because, obviously, no breasts in sight, which, in any case, made things _worse_ than it had initially been) was sleeping but there was a soft grunt, muffled by the pillow (were there two?) and then shifting of arms around his waist.

How on earth did _those_ get there?

Lovino strained to look up, golden-brown eyes only able to catch a glimpse of platinum blond hair.

...and more pale skin.

Blond hair _and _pale skin?

"…_no, fucking no._" He breathed, his voice coming out strained and hoarse.

A chuckle.

"Hah, you wish."

A long period of silence followed that and the man's arms moved to loosen the grip around him. Lovino could finally feel fabric under his head, despite the fact that damp hair did not feel so good against bedsheets and pillows.

No matter.

It wasn't a bare chest.

Lovino closed his eyes while he took the time to take another heavy exhale to calm his nerves down. Part of him wanted to turn around and see who it really was and the other wanted to grab (son of a— was that _his_ shirt on the floor?!) the missing article of clothing from the floor and walk out as if nothing had happened. He knew he was fairly good at that. What he didn't know was if he had enough stupidity impulse to go with the idea of the first part of himself ...or the third, which he would prefer not to mention.

He shook his head, willing those thoughts to a place far, far away.

Really, what reason did he have to dwell on _before_?

The Italian sighed, taking a handful of the blankets and bringing them up to his face to hide the slight flush he could feel on his cheeks.

"Something wrong?" He heard the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite put a face or a name to it and his curiosity was growing by the second (which, like a lot of things that morning, should not have been.)

Lovino bit his lower lip and shifted until he was turned over all the way, facing the other side and then his eyes widened, mouth taking the shape of a very dignified gape.

A languid smile graced the other man's features as amused ruby eyes took in the sight of a very surprised Lovino. His head was propped up by a hand that supported it and at the same time twined itself through his own hair.

"Morning, _beautiful_."

Lovino closed his mouth, another shaky breath was taken as he felt his face heat up even more.

"You—_what—when—fuck—what the—WHY?_"

The man grinned, reaching forward to playfully tug on Lovino' hair (thankfully, not the curl that stuck out like a sore thumb) and then moved to trail that same hand down the other's neck to his waist, hooking his fingers through the other's belt loops with all his intentions set to pull him closer. However, his plans were put to a stop when the other backed away, using hands (he had only realized he had now) to pry the fingers off and keep them a good number of inches apart.

"You fucking cabbage what the hell did you—ow, dammit." His head, apparently, did not agree with him yelling so early in the goddamn morning.

Another chuckle.

"I liked how you said it last night better, had a nice ring to it too."

He grinned, taking the hand that was still holding his and pressing a kiss at the younger man's palm.

"Last..._what_?"

Since when was Lovino Vargas' vocabulary reduced to just _what_?

"Last night." Gilbert said, this time with a frown, his hold on the hand faltering a bit.

"You don't remember?" He sounded faintly disappointed.

"Don't give me that look," Lovino glared, "If anything, I should be scared, because who knows what you could've done to me."

The German only rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up from the lying position to rest his back against the headboard as he idly traced mahogany behind him.

"Don't flatter yourself, boy." His eyes narrowed, Lovino's glare intensified.

"You were the one who called me...called me..."

"Beautiful?" Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest, "doesn't have to mean that I had to screw you last night, does it?"

"I well--...no."

"Tch. And I thought you were a trained, special agent of the WPO."

"Ex- 'trained special agent--" Lovino smiled ruefully, which looked more like a scowl, rolling over to lie on his back as he stared up at the ceiling, not noticing the surprised look on the older man's face he glanced at him for a brief second.

"Is that why I found you in the state you were in last night?" The man was giving him a calculating look, trying to discern the sudden (maybe not so) extra sullenness that the other carried with the previous statement.

It wasn't difficult, really.

Not all people were lucky and able to pick themselves up from taking a fall like that.

Lovino couldn't honestly remember how Gilbert had found him the night before or what they had done (or what had been done to him, that man was lucky his brain wouldn't permit long tirades). The headache was slowly fading and as it did, he willed himself to remember, at least fragments of what had happened and what had brought him there because the fact that he was in a hotel room (a nice one at that) with the _reason_ he had been fired from his job needed an explanation.

And it better be a damn good one at that.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them when he felt weight on either side of his legs and his head to glance at the shirtless man on top of him.

Oh, the shirtless bit just really had to be part of his train of thought.

"Is there anyway I can make it up to you then?" Gilbert asked, or, well, grunted out with a slight snicker at the end— the German tried though, to lace sincerity around every word but it didn't quite reach Lovino.

That or the Italian didn't let those words reach him.

He shook his head.

"Really? (Lovino _swore _he saw a cringe here) because…I er…I had something to do with the whole reason so…"

The Italian frowned, thinking about replaying three months back in his head and December 25th –which had been the day he was throttled back into the world of the jobless.

Pathetic had never been such a perfect word to describe someone. It sickened him to think that way, but there was no way else to say it. He was an idiot for even having it in him to believe that he could get out of this whole ordeal unscathed, all for his idiot of a little brother and this kraut's idiot of a younger brother as well.

"Not you, idiot. The younger one."

Gilbert scoffed, "would you rather him wrap his arms around you then? Although your brother wouldn't appreciate that, I think."

Lovino shook his head and glared, the ceasing pain returning momentarily until he regained enough composure to speak.

"And what could you possibly do?" Lovino challenged then, decidedly ignoring that last comment.

"For starters," Gilbert smirked, pressing his forehead against the younger. "There's you."

"Honestly." Lovino rolled his eyes, more than just a little exasperated with the man.

"_Honestly_." The older echoed.

Lovino shot the man another one of his glares before pushing him off.

With most of the headache gone, he could finally go.

"Where are you going?"

But to where, exactly. He wasn't sure.

Gilbert was eyeing him, a look that seemed to radiate something that could easily be mistaken for worry but Lovino was utterly lost as to the reason behind it. Perhaps the man wasn't saying something.

Not like that was anything new.

Gilbert Beillschimdt was an assassin turned con-artist turned assassin-con-artist --and that had all taken place in the span of three months.

Gilbert Beillschimdt and his brother and their line of work and their side of the law and their whole fucking family was the reason he was here in the first place. Then there was his own brother Feliciano and ex-partner.

Lovino blinked at where his thinking led up to.

It somehow, made a lot more sense (as decipherable his situation and things leading up to it could have made sense) and by now he could see parts of what had taken place before all of this.

The sudden urge to get on a plane, penniless -no suitcases, cellphones --nothing.

Everything was back home.

His dignity, his job, his "friends", his "family" for the most part --his everything.

Stupidity and a drunken night alone got him here, guiding his feet through unknown streets to the airport, to, quite possibly, stumble into the arms of 'the enemy' --though Lovino didn't have much concern for that anymore. Right now wasn't the time to care about such things. Gilbert looked nothing like a criminal in his eyes and he felt rather lucky that the older man refrained (didn't want to?) try anything with him. In fact, he even seemed worried about both his current state and the last night's.

So whatever Lovino did must've been something worth fretting over.

That still didn't explain why his shirt was on the floor though.

"Why is my shirt on the floor?" his legs swung over the edge of the bed as he bent down to take the shirt, the swift motion making the pain come back as quick as he'd picked up the (when-had-he) discarded item.

He bent forward, clutching his head as if he could squeeze the pain out of his system. He could've gotten far by now if he didn't have that blasted metaphorical fist pounding on his head like it was a fucking door.

"Goddammit." He swore under his breath but was sure Gilbert could hear it from the new position he took behind him, rubbing soothing (what, what, just _fucking _what) circles on his back.

The pain made him ignore the oddness of the situation but he was back to his pathetic can't-move-an-inch-without-my-head-hurting self.

"I figured you weren't the type to hold your alcohol well." Gilbert mused, stopping the motions as he got on his feet and pushed Lovino back against the bed as gently as he possibly could.

Golden-brown eyes peered up at him curiously but then closed once again at the rush of pain that came back to haunt him from straining to look up and God forbid, lean against the hand that brushed the bangs away from his face. And all that guy did was ..._make him feel bette_r.

What was the world coming too?

Lovino tugged on the sheets, bringing it up to his shoulders as he pressed closer against the comfort of the pillows and the bed covers generously offered. He acknowledged the warmth with a slightly dazed and sleepy half-smile.

"You must be tired, huh?" He heard the question but simple as it was, couldn't process it properly and found himself replying with a soft "mhmm" as he surrendered to the hand that was, apparently, exceptionally good at making him forget about the stupid headache. He almost sounded disappointed when the hand left but was too caught up in the pre-dozing off stages to complain about it and embarrass himself even more.

Gilbert eyed him quietly as the younger man's features began to relax. It was almost alarming how he could look so different when he slept. Defenseless and calm --because he knew, unlike most people, that Lovino wasn't the indifferent type. He'd found that out about two months ago during their wild goose chase and all the drama that had unfolded when it had all, nearly, come to a close. He had an opinion which was, more often than not, 'no', 'stop it', 'I hate this' or 'I hate you'.

He smirked slightly, taking the shirt from the side of the bed where it hung from Lovino's hand. Gilbert threw it over the chair situated in the corner of the room, setting his own shirt down there as well.

"I'm gonna go take a bath. When you're sure that the headache's gone you can go down and have breakfast."

There was short, "mmm, yeah whatever" as Lovino buried himself beneath the blankets and the pillows. Though still awake, he felt like moving would be postponed for a little while --at least until he regained enough energy to question the man for his presence or better yet, curse him into oblivion then question him while he kept cursing, because right now, he couldn't even muster a small grumble of annoyance.

He heard the bathroom door shut with a soft click. Gilbert probably began with the whole undress and turn the shower on process which he knew better than to dwell on.

And that would've been that, but Lovino chanced a glance at the door for reasons beyond him at the moment and to the chair because the objects on it caught his eye.

Specifically the one that was supposed to be providing most of the warmth of his upper body.

Why the hell was he shirtless in the first place?

* * *

**Note/s: **So…there it is. ;w; Assuming you've read, review, eh? And if you're feeling particularly helpful, mention a pairing that you'd like to see and I'll try to weasel it in here if I can, thank you~!

'Til chapter two is finished then~ XD


	2. there are those who worry

**Details:** AU.  
**Pairing/s:** Prussia/Romano, (TBA)  
**Warning/s In This Chapter:** Romano's alive and kicking, a...bottle of lube?  
**Note/s:** I'm sorry this took so long and thanks to all those who put the story in their alerts/their favorites and to those who reviewed.

* * *

**'The Reasons Why'**

**Chapter two: **There are those who worry

* * *

With the headache gone for good, Lovino decided that it was high time to get off his ass and put his shirt on.

Gilbert had gone right after he'd taken a shower, not bothering to wake the younger man up to tell him where they were meeting, which proved to be more than just a little problem right now. Lovino couldn't read minds nor was a he a psychic and therefore, could not, for the life of him, figure out where the hell that stupid cabbage had gone off to.

But then part of him knew that with his luck, he would be _unlucky_ enough to find him.

And he did.

Right after he stepped out of the elevator and walked to the café with the biggest window.

He felt his legs weaken at the sight of Gilbert toying around with what looked like a carrot on his plate, poking at it idly with his fork.

Lovino checked his watch, the one thirty that was spelled out for him clearly through the short hand and the long hand (that threatened to strike 1:35 if he didn't move any time soon) brought an unfamiliar feeling of guilt and part of him wanted to apologize when he got there and sat down ...in front of a criminal.

...never mind the apology.

He strode in, blaming the elevator ride down (30 floors was much, enough said) for the walk that took much longer than necessary.

He took hold of the chair, his fingers sinking into the cushion as he pulled it back, not making much of a sound since the floors were carpeted.

Gilbert only noticed him when he pulled the chair forward, looked at him quietly for awhile with a vacant expression on his face, which, though very blank, made him seem like he was actually thinking.

The Italian snickered.

The action somehow, snapped the German out of his trance. The older man smirked slightly, dropping his fork gently and leaning back to fold his arms across his chest.

"And here I thought you would take my absence as an opportunity to leave."

...well, _shit_.

Lovino huffed defiantly, glaring pointedly at him, "I _was _going to say thanks."

"..."

He shook his head in disbelief at the lack of response from the second party, "for not… leaving me out on the street to die."

Gilbert's smirk returned almost instantly.

And here he thought he'd actually rendered the guy speechless. He mentally sighed in resignation to the prospect of such happening, so much for that.

"I wasn't expecting you to come down here, 'thought you were smarter than that." He shrugged, looking amused.

"Are you calling me an idiot for being grateful?" The younger snapped, nearly ready to strangle him from across the table. Gilbert raised his hands, as if he were a criminal caught (oh, _hah,_that was funny).

"No, no. Actually, yes but it's not--let me finish, okay? ...I'm just saying. You could've left when you had the chance..."

Lovino blinked, unable to decipher the look in his eyes? He was pretty sure it had to do with something perverted though.

However, Gilbert left it at that and picked up his fork again. "And besides, I found you in a bar. I was kidding around too, didn't think you'd agree."

The black haired man frowned, that last statement was not going to get him to ask--

"Agree to what?"

Oh screw this.

He had nothing to lose anyway.

"I would answer you now but that would be very inappropriate in front of all these people." Gilbert mock-whispered, with a suggestive lilt in his voice.

Lovino' eyes widened but then narrowed when he recovered, "you could _say _it."

"I know." Gilbert smiled, still continuing the game of hockey with his food, the buttered carrot as his puck. "But it'd be much more fun to make you remember that way."

Scowling, Lovino ignored him and chose to occupy himself with the menu.

As much as he possibly could.

"If it helps," Gilbert grinned, "you were drunk last night. So the chances of you remembering are pretty slim."

Part of him actually felt relived that he couldn't remember much, save for the whole spontaneous plane ride and getting knocked out after seeing platinum blond and red but another, more idiotic part, kept nagging his brain to recount everything from after stepping inside the bar to before passing out somewhere in between.

* * *

By the time three in the afternoon rolled around, Lovino found himself situated on one of the benches across the street from the hotel, thinking more. Perhaps it was time to actually start with it, make it a part of his life, instead of just rushing into things before he had the time to sort everything out in his head.

He fell back against his wooden seat with a tired sigh, the puddles under his shoes making light plopping sounds, disturbed by the sudden weight of his foot. Thinking too much led him to certain questionable things though and it didn't take him very far either, though he attributed that to the slippery ground and the snow having just melted. His pant legs weren't spared from his short trek, not that he expected as much. The only 'pro' he was relying on was the peace and quiet he'd asked for after lunch…which wasn't much of a request, more like an announcement of his leaving and Gilbert shrugging it off.

He pretended it didn't sting that after the German constantly prodded his resolve, he would just let him go like that.

"_You have attachment issues, get over them." _

Lovino distinctly remembered the voice of his boss and …grandfather.

Still, he insisted,

"He kept saying shit about last and night and fu—"

"Oh, do go on, _cheri._"

Lovino sat up straight, eyes scanning immediately for the source of the voice –but he wasn't so thankful that all he had to do was look straight and up, because he was sitting down, at blond hair and clear blue eyes that were all too familiar.

"…Francis." It was a grumble an annoyed, dissatisfied, one that meant 'get the fuck away from me now before I sock you in your pretty little face and do other bad things to you here –wait no, not the bad things you're probably thinking of you-French-pervert!' over-all.

"I am glad that you still remember my name." He smiled, but not out of nicety, more of faux politeness.

A default expression from the Frenchman.

"Did they send you to come find me or what?" He tried cutting to the chase.

But there was nothing to cut to, apparently.

"_Non_. _'They'_ did not. I am here to see you during my free time, are you not glad that there is still one person in the world who cares about you enough to—"

"Not if it's you." He scowled, folding his arms over his chest.

Francis chuckled, he didn't bother sitting down on the empty space right beside Lovino.

"Would you rather if someone else had asked me then?" The blond pried, perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifting in inquiry.

"What the hell? You just said '_they_' didn't send you."

"Those whom you have expected might not, but the one you do not expect to might have." What Francis was saying wasn't at all cryptic to Lovino. The sheer familiarity and knowing made him turn away just so he could wince and pout where Francis' couldn't look at him properly.

"I will not ask about the person you had in mind."

The Italian's frown deepened because for awhile, his thoughts were in sync with the wine bastard's.

"In any case." Francis pressed on, probably not caring much for the way Lovino looked like he wanted to pass out again. "I only came to see if you were alive, Lovino. I am sincerely glad that you are."

Glaring once he had recovered, Lovino made a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue.

"What are you, a fucking hallmark greeting card?"

The Frenchman let out a nonchalant chuckle, a glint in his eyes that Lovino had always hated.

"I am simply expressing my true feelings over the matter. You took off without a word, _naturally_, there are people who are worried about you. And on that note, a hallmark card is much more poetic. I would have tried but—"

At this, he stood up, trying to level with Francis but found that he was still a good few inches short of direct eye-contact.

"_Naturally_?" His eyes narrowed at him in a look of contempt.

"Yes, there is your brother—"

"That's a given." He answered curtly, waiting to see if Francis could actually come up with a substantial list.

"Myself."

Lovino snorted.

"There is Ant—"

"…so he's alive?"

Francis paused at this for awhile.

Lovino felt his blood boil along with the loud thumping in his chest, coils of air forming before his mouth showing the preliminary signs of shallow breathing.

"Cut the crap, Frenchie. You just alluded to him two minutes ago and you were going to say his name. He has to be."

The blond was still quiet and pensive after this, they both waited for a good few seconds to pass. Francis was the first to speak once more, leaning in to whisper near the Italian's ear with a slight tilt to the corner of his lips.

"Answer me this first."

"Enough of your stupid questions. Tell me where that asshole is." Lovino pushed him back roughly, but he didn't budge much except for a step back before Francis regained composure and smirked smugly.

The taller man only shook his head, stepping back and ignoring the previous statements.

"Tell me, what was your purpose for coming here? Was it to find him?"

It could be, that Francis was the only one sure of anything right now and he could well have all answers, as it seemed. Though, despite Lovino's incessant demands, he had a slight idea as to the answer to Francis' question, but he was determined to keep it rooted to the back of his mind and far away from his vocal chords. To the second, it was _no_ and his purpose had not once been '_to find'_, especially initially.

"Well?"

"Tch. He left for a reason. I wouldn't know."

"I wasn't asking for –actually, Lovino. Let's drop it for now. It is not important. Your records are enough evidence and you were having a bad day. It is understandable."

_I __**am**__ having a bad day._

The Italian was about to protest but Francis had waved him off and started to walk away.

"I will see you soon, _peu d'italien_!"

And before he could call him back, to ask, to get answers – "I am _not_ a little Italian, you stupid wine-drinking know-it-all bastard!"

He grumbled, kicking the puddle as if it could reach the Frenchman's retreating back, or the designer boots clacking loudly against the cement.

There were obviously things Francis knew, obese file folders of confidential information he'd seen once or twice before told him so, but Lovino knew he wasn't and didn't have the kind of answers Lovino had wanted. He still was head of their Intel Department though and Lovino had enough training to know that this whole ordeal was more than just a personal check-up. It could well be his natural skepticism toward things but this was Chief Bonnefoy of the Intel Department. Not that that mattered much now.

_Fired. _

Not a _Leave of Absence. _

He was _Fired. _

_Discharged. _

_Sacked. _

And rules there were made for that, especially for agents of his kind and standing. He was just privileged enough to have his grandfather running the whole show, which was why he didn't need to go into detailed profiling for a 'starting anew' like the others before him had.

Although he did wonder why there was no further discussion after the actual announcement. Especially because of why he was fired in the first place.

_'Unauthorized investigation, unauthorized use of company vehicles, consenting to the enemy's demands'_

The list was long and he could check off more things his grandfather had told him, but those were the three that stood out. Right up to now, he still doubted whether or not this was all worth the well-being of his brother, Feliciano. He'd lost but hadn't gained.

_Yet. _He thought, determined but things still seemed bleak and it didn't help that Francis had found him so fast, which probably meant WPO was still keeping an eye on him. Shaking everything off things from before would be harder than he thought --not that he'd thought much when he'd gotten on that plane and gotten himself drunk.

Lovino sighed, head hanging and his hands balling into tight fists inside the pockets of his trench coat, this was going to be a long—

—he didn't even know how long it would take until he got things sorted out.

Although he was pretty that the whole process was going to be a pain and he probably wouldn't come out unscathed.

* * *

When Lovino arrived at room 3019, it was around four-thirty in the afternoon already. He took a good long pause at the door before sliding the keycard he'd managed to berate Gilbert into giving him earlier. He lifted the handle when it came loose and pushed passed, the mahogany shutting behind him with a soft click.

He eyed the German for awhile, who was shuffling about in the room, too busy to notice him enter, which of course, had pissed him off somewhat.

"Oi, I'm back." He announced, stuffing the keycard in his pocket as he took off his shoes to indulge his feet to the carpeted floor.

"Huh? Oh. Hey there." Gilbert turned over pillows, chairs and a messenger bag that Lovino hadn't seen awhile ago on the table beside the reading chair.

"What the hell is all this pacing around for, you're giving me a headache." Lovino sat down on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit Indian-style on the mattress, pulling a pillow from the side to him.

The older man stopped to shoot him a dirty look, indicating that whatever he was looking for was serious business. Lovino absentmindedly toyed with the idea that perhaps it had something to do with the German's employers or something but pushed the thought back when Gilbert sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation, making his way to the bed. He plopped down on the mattress, lying down with his feet dangling off the edge and his arms spread out wide like he was waiting for a hug.

"What's eating you?" The Italian poked at his side just when Gilbert covered an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light streaming in through the large glass windows off to the side.

"What bit you in the ass got you concerned? It's nothing." His tone was even snappier than Lovino's, which scared the young man a little, considering that Gilbert was a criminal, expert at his trade and Lovino was now an unarmed jobless civilian with a worthless standing in society.

He didn't have a chance to say anything to that though, as Gilbert lifted himself up and crawled over near the head of the bed to stretch for the sidetable drawer, pulling it open. The contents all rolled over to the opened side and from the corner of his eye, Lovino could see a bunch of pens and a bunch of other useless things. He was about to turn away when Gilbert pulled out a bottle, inspecting the label that Lovino had already read.

**'Good Clean Love  
Lavender Rose Scented'**

"What the hell is that?!" He exclaimed, before he could hold anything back or think rationally.

Gilbert peered at him curiously and then grinned a little at the red-faced Italian.

He chuckled as he threw it back inside the drawer and pulled out a box of what looked like a deck of cards.

"For later." He waggled his eyes suggestively. Lovino huffed and glared, hands curling around the pillow in an attempt to not strangle the German to death.

"I'm kidding, you're probably a virgin anyway."

Lovino, ever prone to thoughtless outbursts, sent the pillow to attack Gilbert's face with all it's threatening fluffiness.

"What's wrong with virgins?"

At this, Gilbert laughed.

Threw his head back, clutching his stomach, eyes closed that he seemed close to tears by now.

"What's so funny?" Lovino frowned.

Eventually, the platinum blond had managed to recover, sitting up straight to close the drawer and face him. He lifted the box's flap, sliding the cards easily into his free hand.

"Nothing, nothing." He shook his head and scooted closer, motioning the Italian to do the same.

"How was your walk?" He asked, trying to strike conversation.

Lovino momentarily flashbacked to his encounter with the Chief of Intel, a bunch of what ifs and buts making way into his thoughts, endless possibilities and the prospect of regaining a bit of the past he wasn't sure he wanted to leave behind like he was trying to do to everything else.

"I'm not sure if it was good or bad, given that you're still here. Though I'm willin' to bet on bad because apparently, I'm better than the streets out there."

Lovino felt a little disappointed that he didn't have a pillow to attack with this time, because he had no answer to that, which left him both frustrated and disappointed.

"Why'd you come back anyway?"

Francis' voice echoed in his mind, _"What was your purpose for coming here?"_

He shook it off and moved closer to the cards that Gilbert was gesturing him to cut. He still hadn't spoken, but made sure to look annoyed at being asked and like Francis, Gilbert let the matter go…although by using himself.

"Miss me that much, huh?"

Lovino contemplated throwing the cards at him, but decided not to in the end. He opened his mouth to say something, protest and bark semi-truthful reason but the sound of the polyphonic version of '_The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny'_ cut through the silence and Gilbert immediately scrambled off the bed to the source of the noise, finding it in the bathroom. Too preoccupied, he'd left the door open but Lovino could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

"_Hello?" _Gilbert answered,breathless from the excitement of finding his phone coupled with the short adrenaline rush of panic, fall and flail.

"_Yeah, he—I'm here." _

"_Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow?! I need more time. It could take days." _

"_Well, tell them to shove it up their asses. Then again it might not fit since there's already a stick there that somebody really needs to fuckin' pull out." _

"_I know I'm crude, boo you." _

"_Fine, fine. I'll call when I'm ready." _

"_Hell—who is this now—oh." _

"_Hey." _

Lovino guessed that somebody else was on now, judging by the sudden change of tone and the softness to Gilbert's voice that Lovino remembered hearing right before he'd fallen asleep.

"_Great. Awesome. Really." _

"_Don't! Whatever you do. Nobody's talked about anything. Everything's cool. I said I'll call back when I'm ready, okay?" _

"_Right. Okay. Bye." _

Gilbert disconnected the call and stuffed the phone in his pocket, making his way back to the bed.

"Who was it?" Lovino asked, curious, but trying to sound detached. The words he'd picked up had piqued his interest though and a part of him he couldn't let go of wanted to 'investigate further' but that would be interfering in matters he shouldn't have. It was the WPO's job, he was just an innocent civilian caught in between.

"Work." Gilbert muttered as he took hold of the cards to reshuffle.

The Italian scoffed. What Gilbert did was work? _Hah._

Then again, he didn't have much say in this now anyway. Gilbert was lucky he still had a job to keep and—

"Ever played poker?" The question effectively stopped his train of thought and upon hearing those words, he was starting to not care so much about being baited in so fast.

"Yeah, I have. Few times before." _Won. _He tried not to sound smug.

Gilbert smirked, almost mirroring his.

"Alright then. How 'bout a little bet. To make things more interesting."

"A bet?" Lovino raised his eyebrows. Things were starting to look up for him and maybe he could even score some money back before he dropped him like a hot potato.

Hot potato. _Pfft._

He snickered inwardly at the private joke and as he nodded in agreement.

"Let's get a few things straight first, little Italian brat."

He ignored that because he was actually feeling good about the idea of winning and beating this bastard via gambling skills that were unknown to the rest of the world.

"You are being held captive right now, by me, the awesome Gilbert Beillschmidt-- and though I feel lucky that I have such a _willing_ hostage."

Lovino's eyes widened, while Gilbert leaned over, lips brushing his ear as he picked the keycard from the ex-agent's pocket.

Hot breath ghosted over the side of his face and he could feel his cheeks heat up, but he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment from the sudden announcement of his 'status' or because Gilbert was _too _close.

"Play for your freedom?" The German asked, pulling away to watch him with amused eyes.

Lovino snapped out and glared.

"That and all the money in your pocket." He challenged, eyes flashing darkly.

"Fine. With your freedom comes control over you. I get to do _anything_ to you when I win, got that?"

Lovino muttered a "Tch," and a few other curses under his breath before further consenting, paying no attention to the 'when' because he knew it wouldn't end like that. Gilbert chuckled lightly before letting him cut the deck again.

"Now deal." The Italian demanded, too wrapped up in '_what does 'do anything to you mean?', _as well as the game and his soon-to-be-winnings to realize that the door could be opened from the inside.

* * *

**Note/s: **Right so. I tried to think things through for the whole thing, since in the original fiction version I lasted about two chapters XD –in the end, I came up with a really complicated web of relations and right now, I'm just going WTF is this (at the diagram on word) but everything's still tentative. And like, right now Prussia's role seems totally irrelevant but he will be~ like…if I get the nerve to keep writing =3=

I'm sorry I update so slow (A MONTH, I KNOW), but it's just in my nature to do so. ; I'll try harder though, I swear. =w=

Oh GCL is a lubricant~ it's in this chapter because I found it tucked under the pillow in my uncle's room ...it's not bottled though, but let's pretend it is, yeah? XD

What else...oh! _The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny_ is an awesome song! Almost as awesome as Prussia but not quite. Check it out if you haven't heard it. Hooray for old-school polyphonic phones!

...your thoughts now please, yes? Okay? Yay. Thanks. :D


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